


Behave.

by purple_bookcover



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anal Sex, Dom!Suga, M/M, Manga Spoilers, Overstimulation, Painplay, Spanking, thirstmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-08
Updated: 2020-12-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27962783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_bookcover/pseuds/purple_bookcover
Summary: Oikawa lands in Japan to play in the Olympics. In the airport, he has a chance encounter with Sugawara of all people. The brief interaction leaves him shaken - and wanting more. With a mere glance, Suga puts him in his place and Oikawa likes that far,farmore than he cares to admit.
Relationships: Oikawa Tooru/Sugawara Koushi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 127
Collections: HQ Thirstmas 2020





	Behave.

**Author's Note:**

> This story largely came about because someone commented on my Haikyuu Kinktober collection and wanted more of Suga domming Oikawa. You were right, friend. You were so right. 
> 
> **There are manga spoilers in this for the ending.**
> 
> Written for HQ Thirstmas, Day 2: Overstimulation

Sugawara Koushi was not the first person Oikawa expected to see when he returned to Japan. If Oikawa had made a list, Suga wouldn’t even reach the top 10. 

Yet here he was in the Haneda Airport bar sipping something the color of amber. 

Oikawa had a moment of vertigo. The first person in all of Japan he sees again and it’s Suga, unassuming Suga, who spent most of his last year just warming the bench for Karasuno, a morale boost and little more. What the hell was he even doing in the airport? He had bags, as though he’d just gotten off a flight himself. Oikawa had always assumed he’d just stay in Japan and become a teacher or something. 

Fuck it. It had been a long flight from Argentina. 

Oikawa hefted his bag onto his shoulder and swaggered toward the bar. Suga just went on staring down at his drink, so lost in thought he didn’t notice Oikawa approaching.

Oikawa dropped his bag and plopped onto the stool beside Suga’s. Suga jerked his head up, long eyelashes fluttering as he blinked. He always did have such pretty eyes, especially with that little birth mark under one of them. 

“Oikawa?” 

“Hey, how ya been?” 

Suga looked around as though confused about how he’d even gotten to the airport. “W-what are you doing here?”

“I was tempted to ask you the same thing,” Oikawa said. 

“I flew in for the Olympics,” Suga said. “To watch, not play, of course. I just got in. Are you here for the games as well?”

Oikawa nodded. “I’ll be playing.”

Suga blinked again, such a pretty gesture with those big eyes and long lashes of his. 

“For Argentina.”

Oikawa launched into the explanation, one he’d rehearsed in his head on the way here. It was nice having a person to test run the whole thing on. Sugawara’s mouth dropped open as Oikawa explained returning this way, as a naturalized citizen of Argentina playing on their Olympic volleyball team. 

“Well, that’s incredible, Oikawa,” Suga said. “You really did it. Congratulations.”

Oikawa shrugged. “The real fun will be when I encounter your freak duo. Together again, just like high school, huh?”

Suga laughed, putting his hand up to cover his mouth as he did. God, why was everything this guy did so damn _pretty_? Oikawa must have been tired from the flight. He didn’t recall thinking like this back in high school. 

Oikawa ordered himself a drink, probably the only one he’d be allowed to have for a while, and he and Suga slipped into stories of their younger years. Not infrequently, the conversation turned to that “freak duo,” Kageyama and Hinata, back on the same side of the net again. Oikawa tingled with excitement at the prospect of facing them on the biggest stage possible. 

Perhaps that hum of excitement and anticipation was what had him leaning closer to Suga as they talked, turning his body on the stool until their knees were nearly touching. Oikawa might have expected shy little Suga to recoil from the closeness, but he seemed utterly unperturbed. He even touched Oikawa’s arm once, leaning in to whisper gossip at Oikawa’s ear. 

Oikawa barely heard it.

That soft voice brushed against his ear. The words sent heat sinking into his stomach. Suga’s closeness, his voice, the puff of his breath, warmed Oikawa’s whole body. 

Maybe it was the drink. Maybe it was the long, long flight. Maybe it was the mere fact that he was in Japan again. But when Suga backed away, Oikawa’s whole body reeled in protest. Oikawa longed to reach out, to keep Suga close just a little longer. 

He resisted, but Oikawa had to knock back the rest of his drink to give his hands something to do. 

Suga finished his drink as well. He set the empty glass on the bar with a little sigh. Then, to Oikawa’s horror, he stood.

“Well,” Suga said, “I should get going. My ride is probably waiting on me.”

“Oh.” _Don’t!_

“It was nice seeing you again, Oikawa. Good luck in your matches.” 

“Yeah.” 

Suga bent to gather up his bag, arranging his coat over the handle of rollaway luggage. Oikawa’s heart beat staccato in his chest, urging him toward action, but he sat frozen as he watched Suga gather up his things. It wasn’t until Suga took a step away from the bar, away from him, that Oikawa’s resolve broke. He grabbed Suga by the arm, halting him. 

Suga stood over him, coolly looking down at Oikawa’s hand on his arm. When his eyes met Oikawa’s, the smallest smile curled the edges of Suga’s mouth. 

It was a look that threatened to steal Oikawa’s breath. This was not reserved and unassuming Suga, off to the side, warming a bench, watching the action from the stands. The man looking down at him was firmly in control and, Oikawa realized in horror, had been from the second Oikawa sat down.

Suga eased his arm free of Oikawa’s hold. Then he bent down, leaning close, that heat and breath tickling against Oikawa’s ear once more, sending shivers of warmth into Oikawa’s gut. 

“Behave.”

It was a command, sharp, direct and quick. Oikawa flushed with heat, sitting absolutely still as Suga backed away. His smile was serene, even polite. He took Oikawa’s hand, pressing something into it, curling Oikawa’s fingers over it. Then Suga left, not even turning back to look as he exited the bar. 

Oikawa gaped, hardly moving even when Suga disappeared into the crowd milling through the airport. It was the bartender who jolted him back into his body, asking if he wanted another drink.

“Oh, no, I’ll just pay for this one and go,” Oikawa said.

“Your friend already paid.”

Oikawa swallowed. He had no idea what just happened, how Suga had silently, smoothly, seamlessly taken control of this entire interaction. He certainly didn’t know _when_ it had happened, when a friendly, harmless conversation had turned into … into this. Sure, Oikawa had flirted a little, but Oikawa always flirted. 

When he stood to gather up his bag and attempt to leave the airport, he realized his hand was still clenched. He uncurled his fingers gingerly, terrified of what he might find. 

It was a slip of paper. He expected a phone number, but there were no numbers at all, just a simple note:

_I’ll contact you._

Oikawa blinked as his stomach churned.

#

Suga didn’t contact him. Not that first day. Not the next. Not even the one after that.

Oikawa told himself he’d just forget about the encounter. He had plenty else to do. He spent most of day one just finding the Olympic Village and adjusting to the time difference. Being ravenous and wide awake at 4 a.m. did not lend itself to ignoring the bizarre encounter in the airport, though.

At least he had to practice the next day. Coach was trying to get the team adjusted to the time difference as quickly as possible. That meant eating and practice at their usual times, even if they were sluggish and groggy. 

It helped, though. Oikawa’s mind and body adjusted. He even got to experience some of his favorite foods again. Argentina was great, but it didn’t have anything he’d call authentic Japanese food. 

By the third day, he was genuinely adjusting, genuinely forgetting about whatever the fuck happened in that airport. Maybe it was just the flight and his own exhaustion. Suga had never been assertive. He was just a quiet guy in the background, unremarkable, really. There was no way he’d actually come on to Oikawa in that bar _and_ commanded the whole interaction while he was at it. 

On day four, Oikawa was feeling like himself again. Coach gave the whole team a free day. After two days rigidly keeping to a schedule to help them adjust, he allowed the team to rest and prepare for when the real practices and games began.

That’s when he got a text.

_here’s the address. see you tonight._

Oikawa’s whole body reacted to the words on that scream. His heart leapt into his throat, fluttering beats making his breath quiver. His legs went cold and hollow. His fingertips tingled. 

The text was from a number he didn’t recognize, but he didn’t need a name. He knew. His whole damn body knew. Still, some part of him needed to resist, to put up any kind of protest, some pretense of dignity.

_how do you know I’ll show?_

The answer arrived quickly. _wasn’t a request_

Christ, why did that make sweat break out down his back? 

_i’m kind of busy you know,_ he texted back. _playing in the god damn olympics and all that_

A short delay, then: _oh, you’re going to be a noisy brat when I discipline you, huh?_

Oikawa’s hands were shaking. He couldn’t manage to hold the phone any longer. Every time he tried to type, it came out so garbled the auto correct gave up making words out of it. 

He tossed the phone onto the bed in his hotel room, looking at it like it was a snake waiting to strike. 

Yet that heat under his arms and down his back – it wasn’t fear. That flutter in his chest, the stutter in his throat, the tingle in his crotch, they betrayed what his mind dared not name. 

The shower, and a quick jerk under the hot water, helped, but when he emerged, toweling off his hair, his eyes went right to his phone. He couldn’t help looking, not sure what he was even checking it for, but there was nothing new. He scrolled through the conversation from earlier and clicked on the address provided. It wasn’t far. Maybe five minutes by rideshare. He could get there easily. 

No, what was he thinking? He couldn’t just show up on command. He had more self-respect than that, at least. 

He set the phone aside, pouring himself a drink from the little fridge in the hotel room. Probably not a great idea. He had practice tomorrow. He was supposed to be at the top of his game. But that address lingered on his mind, that command tugging at him like a hook caught under his sternum. 

Oikawa dressed. He didn’t even realize it until he was pulling on a T-shirt, zipping up skinny jeans, checking out how long and lean they made his legs look. 

Why was he thinking that? Why did that even matter?

Yet as he sat on the edge of the bed sipping his drink, he left the jeans on. 

He glanced at the clock. Barely past 8 p.m. Plenty of time. It wouldn’t look that weird if he went out now. It had been so long since he’d been in Japan. It would be nice to see an old friend and catch up. 

The excuses kept piling up, pushing insistently until Oikawa found himself rising, stuffing a room key and wallet and phone in his pockets and heading for the door.

The moment he stepped outside and the cool air hit him, he knew he wasn’t turning back.

#

Oikawa arrived at a hostel. The rideshare drove right past it at first and Oikawa had to backtrack after exiting the car.

He double checked the address. This couldn’t possibly be the right place. Yet even as he stood outside looking between his phone and the squat little house in front of him, Suga appeared. 

“This way.” Suga didn’t explain further, just started walking away. 

And Oikawa followed.

Damn him, but he followed. Suga headed down the street a couple houses and right up to someone’s front door. He didn’t even look back, absolutely confident that Oikawa was at his heels, which, of course, he was.

“Hey, um, is this OK?” Oikawa said.

Suga unlocked the door and stepped inside. “Of course.”

Oikawa followed him in, taking off his shoes, trailing Suga down a darkened hallway and up a set of stairs. 

“This is a friend’s house,” Suga said. “I’m staying with him during my visit, but he’s out for the night.”

“Oh.” 

Suga headed for a bedroom. It looked like a spare room of some sort, with little but a bed and Suga’s luggage in the corner. 

Oikawa lingered with his back against the door while Suga settled on the bed. He leaned back on his hands, smiling over at Oikawa, eyes roving shamelessly up and down his body. 

“Why don’t you come here?” Suga said. 

Oikawa’s body lurched like he’d been waiting all these long four days for that suggestion. He stood before Suga and even looming over him, Oikawa felt tremendously small as those soft brown eyes appraised him frankly. 

It was still Suga, he told himself. It was still just Suga. 

Yet even as he repeated it to himself, he tasted the lie. The man looking up at him from the bed was picking him apart with nothing but a smile and a shrewd look. He was relaxed and in control and Oikawa was just _standing there_ waiting to be told what to do. 

There was no point denying it anymore. From the moment Suga told him to “behave” in that bar he’d been waiting for the next order, trembling with anticipation, his whole body on edge, shamefully eager. 

Suga cocked his head, a question. 

Oikawa broke. “Tell me what to do.” 

It wasn’t a demand; it was a plea. And Suga heard it. His mouth curled. Before Oikawa even knew what was happening, Suga grabbed him, flinging him around and onto the bed. Oikawa was still reeling from the swift, decisive motion when Suga put him on his back and climbed on top of him, pinning Oikawa’s wrists against the mattress. 

“You like being told what to do, don’t you?” Suga said. “You crave it. You need it.”

Oikawa swallowed, but there was no point denying it any longer. He nodded.

“I’ll help you,” Suga said. 

Oikawa thought that was a rather liberal definition of “help,” but he didn’t get a chance to protest as Suga dipped down to kiss up his neck. He kept holding Oikawa’s wrists down as he trailed up and up. Oikawa gasped and writhed from just that, straining with his hips to try to meet any more of Suga’s body. Every point of contact burned and sizzled. 

It was pathetic, he thought even as he moaned in Suga’s hold. Pathetic, how eager his body was, how he’d been waiting and waiting and yearning for this touch for four whole days.

Suga reached his mouth, muffling his whimpering moans. His lips were firm and soft all at once, a microcosm of everything about this strange experience. Even as Suga held him down and quieted his noises, he kissed so softly, so tenderly. Oikawa surrendered to his mouth, his hands, his control. 

Suga eased away, sitting up. He released Oikawa’s wrists, but Oikawa left his arms above his head anyway. Suga smiled down at him. 

“Good,” he said. 

That was all. Then he peeled off his shirt, revealing the smooth, pale plane of his chest. A few little spots like the one below his eye dotted his skin. Oikawa longed to taste them. His mouth watered. Yet he dared not move from where Suga had placed him.

“Open your mouth,” Suga said.

And he did. Immediately, without question, he opened his mouth and waited. 

Suga slipped two fingers inside, running them along Oikawa’s tongue. Oikawa closed his lips and sucked, watching Suga, waiting for approval. Suga smiled, just a little, and Oikawa sucked harder, running his tongue along the fingers in his mouth. 

Suga started to move his hand, pumping into Oikawa’s mouth. It made Oikawa hungry for more. Something bigger. Something more filling than mere fingers. 

“Be patient,” Suga said, as though he could read Oikawa’s thoughts. “You’ll get what you want, but first you have to show me you can be good, OK?”

Oikawa moaned a response around Suga’s fingers invading his mouth. 

“Alright,” Suga said. “I’m going to get up now and get something. You can kneel over the edge of the bed if you want to find out what it is. Or you can leave and we’ll never speak of this again. It’s up to you.”

True to his word, Suga withdrew his hand and shuffled off of Oikawa and the bed. He went to a bag on the floor. As he rummaged, Oikawa slowly brought his hands back down from over his head. He touched his mouth where Suga had stuck his fingers. He wished he had them back, longed to taste them again, but Suga was moving on. He had decide if he was going to follow or not.

It was total madness to stay here, right? Some part of Oikawa knew it was reckless, completely reckless, yet he found himself sliding off the bed, only to kneel beside it. God, he was really doing this, huh? He was really going to stay for whatever this was? Even as he balked at the decision, the desire to stay burned hot in his belly, undeniable and hungry and pleading. 

“Well,” Suga said somewhere behind him, “still here, hm?” 

Something slapped against skin. Oikawa feared to know what (feared and thrilled, though he wouldn’t admit to it). 

“Alright then,” Suga said. “Lay over the edge of the bed.” 

Oikawa paused, confused, then Suga grabbed him by the hips and encouraged him to rise up, laying his torso on the bed. It bent him over so his ass was in the air. Suga knelt behind him, surprisingly gentle as he undid Oikawa’s pants and pulled those and his boxers down. Cool air brushed his exposed ass, then Suga kissed one cheek, warm, soft, even. 

When he stood, the softness was gone. 

Oikawa heard that thing slap against skin again, perhaps Suga’s palm. 

“Should, uh, should there be a word or-or something?” Oikawa said. 

Suga laughed behind him. “Don’t you think you need one?”

Oikawa swallowed, yet the word that emerged was, “No.”

“Then don’t ask silly questions.”

“But-”

The next slap was against Oikawa’s ass, sharp and bright and quick. He gasped, pulling away from the pain. Yet as it eased from a burn to a sizzle, he found himself melting into it and biting back a moan. How did Suga know it would feel good? How did he know just the right amount of force to put behind it?

Oikawa didn’t get to find out. Suga smacked him with the whip (or whatever it was) again. He struck a slightly different spot, but the delicious spike of pain was the same – burning at first until it cooled into something that left Oikawa aching.

He was just beginning to think he could handle this, that this wasn’t a bout of insanity spiraling wildly out of his control, when Suga spoke.

“Count.”

Oikawa’s cock twitched. It was already hard, which was humiliating enough, but he knew from the little noise Suga made that he’d seen that jitter of excitement at the order.

Oikawa didn’t get a chance to pull himself together. The lash struck again, biting his ass.

Suga waited.

“O-one,” Oikawa said.

“Faster,” Suga said. “Don’t fall behind.”

Oikawa didn’t have time to agree before another hot stripe of pain burned across his skin. This time he immediately yelped, “Two!” 

“So much better.” Suga almost sounded like the sweet and encouraging kid Oikawa remembered from the volleyball court, but he was far less than sweet when he lashed out again.

“Three!”

They made it to 10 before Suga stopped, leaving Oikawa to sag down atop the bed, legs trembling so hard he couldn’t hold himself up anymore. His cock was so hard he groaned even from accidentally rubbing it against the bedspread as he dropped to his knees, arms still on the bed, face in the mattress as he rubbed away stubborn tears. They were not tears of distress or even fear, though. They were … Oikawa feared to name it. Suffice it to say he’d take another 10 if Suga saw fit to grant it. 

Mercifully, he didn’t. He sat behind Oikawa, rubbing his sore ass, his hand cool and soothing on the reddened skin. Oikawa ground his hips from even that light touch, a whine crawling out of his throat.

“I know,” Suga said. “I know you need now. We’re coming to that. Just a bit longer. I want to make sure you’re ready.” 

Oikawa whined in response, too blissed out for much else. Even in that state, however, he couldn’t miss the sound of clothing shuffling behind him or the wet squelch of lube being applied in quick strokes. Slick fingers touched his hole, the coolness of Suga’s fingertips delightful after all the heat of the whip. 

Suga worked his fingers into Oikawa, swift and sure, but he did not stay long, only giving Oikawa a few pumps before he withdrew.

“Hips up,” Suga said. “If you want it.” 

He did. Oh, how he did. Oikawa lost any last pretense of dignity he might have clung to as he dragged himself back up, clutching at the bedspread, his face in the mattress as his ass waited for Suga. 

He did not wait long. 

Suga pushed a slick cock against him, urging him open. Oikawa exhaled, welcoming the pressure, this new sort of burn that crackled not just against his skin but all the way up to his throat. The exhale became a sigh as Suga filled him, sliding deep.

“You see?” Suga said. “Nice and ready. Isn’t that worth the effort?”

“Nnn,” Oikawa said, already too lust-drunk to find coherent words. 

Suga laughed, a short little chuckle, but it wasn’t unkind. None of this was unkind. It could have been, yet at every turn Suga’s control and direction was practiced and calm and exactly what Oikawa needed. How did he know? How did he perceive Oikawa so completely and so thoroughly? It was terrifying, yet Oikawa could not feel anything other than secure in Suga’s grip. 

In fact, as Suga drew back only to thrust into him again, Oikawa relented entirely to Suga’s hold. His legs quivered, but Suga was supporting him by the hips, keeping him upright enough to take his cock. And Oikawa was more than happy to sink onto the bedspread, face still mashed against the sheets. 

Suga worked quickly and efficiently, pumping into Oikawa, dragging pressure and sensation over his prostate to leave him a trembling mess atop the bed. He must have sensed how close Oikawa was just from the spanking, how dangerously near the precipice he teetered from the moment Suga entered him. 

_I know,_ Suga had said at various points this night. It certainly seemed like that was true as he drove Oikawa inexorably toward sweet release. 

“S-Suga,” Oikawa moaned into the mattress. 

“Mmm,” Suga said. If slamming into Oikawa’s ass had unnerved him in any way, his voice did not reveal it.

Oikawa jerked his hips, determined to unravel Suga, determined to make him feel even a sliver of what he was feeling. Suga breathed sharply – perhaps a note of surprise? – and Oikawa pushed back harder, meeting his motions, swaying his hips to match each beat. 

Suga huffed out a breath. Oikawa would have smirked if he could, but even with his face on the bedspread it turned into a groan. The fire rippling up his spine was simply too much to permit other any reaction but simpering moans. 

Still, Suga _was_ reacting. At last, he was losing a little bit of control himself. 

He hunched forward, breath hot along Oikawa’s spine. Oikawa nearly thought he got him, nearly thought he’d won some small victory here, but then Suga’s hand snuck around to grip his cock and Oikawa shouted into the mattress. 

“My,” Suga breathed. “Noisy, aren’t we?” 

Oikawa didn’t even make a pretense of responding. He released a long, high whine right into the comforter, giving up on doing anything but keeping himself upright. He clawed at the sheets, gripping as pleasure knotted up tight and everything pulled in close. 

Suga just stroked faster.

It sent Oikawa careening over the edge at last, an edge he didn’t know he’d been chasing for four torturous days. This was the signal he needed, the ultimate permission he sought. Suga stroked relentlessly, leaving Oikawa no choice but to spill over his hand, to release his pleasure at last, to cry out into the mattress as all the tension boiled out of him in a gush. 

Suga didn’t stop.

Even as the last furtive drops spilled out of Oikawa, even as he whined and stilled, Suga kept pounding into him, just as relentless as before. It edged toward pain, bright and strange, but when Oikawa whimpered Suga just said, “Shh, shh,” and continued. 

And for some reason, Oikawa didn’t care. He lay there taking it, his body burning around Suga’s cock, his ass still tingling from the lashes, and squirmed around the discomfort. There was something enticing about it, something that made him want to wriggle closer and explore this strange, new edge he’d never even bothered to think about. Because even as it started to hurt, Oikawa felt so utterly at confident in Suga’s control that he couldn’t imagine wanting to fight it. 

He hardly registered Suga pulling out of him and coming on his ass, splattering hot and wet on his bruised cheeks at last. Oikawa was too busy recovering from what had brought him to this moment, the strange and dangerous high that Suga had slowly, deliberately drawn out of him, a high made sweeter and stranger and more brilliant for the edge of pain laced through it.

His mind was still soft and foggy when Suga wiped the cum off his ass. Only then did Oikawa realize what must have happened back there. Suga was gentle about rubbing over the bruises and redness he’d caused. When he was done, he even helped Oikawa crawl up in the bed so he could lay comfortably. 

It was some minutes before Oikawa could speak again, some minutes before he could do anything but lie on his side breathing while Suga ran his fingers through Oikawa’s hair and stroked his cheek. 

When he could, though, Oikawa said, “How did you know?”

“Hm?”

“How did you know all this?” Oikawa said.

Suga smiled. It was pretty, on him at least. “I’ve always been good at observing. You aren’t as mysterious as you think you are, oh Great King.” 

Oikawa sighed. Once, he might have argued that, might have even been affronted by it. But he no longer cared. It was true – Suga had seen right through him and Oikawa was damn grateful for it.

“Guess the bench has its benefits,” Oikawa said.

Suga smirked. He put a finger under Oikawa’s chin, tilting his head up to kiss him.

“I guess it does,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/purplebookcover) (18+ please).
> 
> I respond to every comment. Thank you, friends!


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